I guess I'll take my time.

A few weeks ago, on December 7th, I boarded an early morning train to Melbourne with a very dear friend. The evening that would follow was incredible. For, tucked away in my relatively new vintage handbag (it seems a contradiction in terms, but it was new to my life), were two tickets to see one of my favourite artists, the incomparable Elton John. And so, the train pulled into Southern Cross Station at about 10am, and we stepped into the warm city air. After a quick check-in at the Hotel, my friend and I began exploring the streets. I do not wish to dwell too extensively upon what could be described as a fairly ordinary Melbourne day, as there are much more exciting things to be discussed. But it consisted of much walking upon increasingly painful feet, spending from decreasingly plentiful bank accounts and filling of already satisfied stomachs. But then, as the time neared, we caught a small boat floating along the Yarra River to Rod Laver Arena.

As we made our way in and took our seats (and what decent seats they were, directly in front of the stage and close enough to see everything clearly, thanks in large part to my luckily remembered glasses) we listened to what I would probably call the pre-support act. I think he was a local musician, singing and playing acoustic guitar, and sounding quite lovely. He left the stage before long, to be followed by the actual support act. A pair of young (and noticeably handsome) men who call themselves The Two Cellos. A rather self-explanatory name, really. Their schtick involved playing arrangements of well-known songs on, you guessed it, a pair of cellos. They were fantastic. With lightning fast hands and more charisma than ten ordinary men, it was obvious why they had got the gig. It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed and a huge cheer filled the arena as we saw the outline of Elton John walk out from behind the curtain and take a seat at the magnificent grand piano that filled much of the stage.

The first song he and his immensely talented band played was ‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting’, and from that moment until the final note almost two and a half hours later, I was completely and entirely under Elton’s spell. He seemed to play an almost constant stream of hits effortlessly and perfectly. Some of my personal highlights were ‘Tiny Dancer’, ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’, ‘Candle in the Wind’, an incredible ten minute version of ‘Rocket Man’ and of course, ‘Your Song’, which is what he finished with. There was perhaps less audience interaction than I would have desired, but the quality of the performance more than made up for this. Every time the cameras presented a close-up of his hands bouncing across the piano on the big screens, I had to withhold a squeal of delight (though I did not always manage to do this throughout the show, especially whenever he began any song of which I am excessively fond). At one point, as the crowd was going particularly wild, he stood with one foot upon the piano stool and the other on the piano, waving to us. And then, in a moment that seemed to defy what a man of his age should be capable of, he put both hands on the piano and jumped to the ground. It was pretty darn cool.

It was certainly a night I will not soon forget. The following afternoon, on the train ride home, I listened to Elton John’s Greatest Hits album and attempted to relive every moment of the concert. I chose not to take any photos or videos, but rather exist in the moment, which was a good decision. It has made the memories of December 7th so much more potent. And Elton has firmly cemented his position in my mind as one of greatest solo musicians of all time.